


Yes, Yes, Yes!

by Maizeysugah



Series: The Mudblood Relocation Camp Tales [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizeysugah/pseuds/Maizeysugah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort find themselves trapped in an empty room, both looking extremely sexy and poisoned with the other's love potion. Hating each other while finding them utterly irresistible, it's only a matter of time before they cave in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Yes, Yes!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangafan000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangafan000/gifts).



> This was written for mangafan000 because she's amazing and leaves me the most awesome comments on everything.

”Wake up, wake up.” 

Harry Potter smiles. He reaches up, pulling the person on top of him into his arms.”C’mere, babe.” He inhales the most wonderful scent he’s ever smelled and releases a contented sigh. “You smell fantastic.” 

“Get your fucking hands off me.” 

A brisk slap across his face startles Harry awake. He sits up, gasping and shoving the man sitting on top of him over the the side of the bed. “What the hell?” He gropes around for his glasses but the man picking himself up beside him throws them at his face and backs up across the room. With shaking hands, Harry places them on his face, blinking, squinting, not believing what he’s seeing. He stands up and the bed he was sleeping on vanishes. He looks around the room, it’s empty. “What’s going on?” He was fully dressed and wandless. Something was very wrong with this situation. He felt himself start to panic. 

The tall, lanky man leans up against the wall across the room, glaring at the floor. “You tell me, you sonuvabitch. What have you done?” 

“Are you…are you Lord Voldemort?” he asks him after taking a closer look at him. He could never forget that face, the young man was unbelievably gorgeous. What? 

He still won’t look at him. “Of course I am, you stupid boy.” 

Harry snorts. “Boy? I’m 45 years old. I have a grandchild for Merlin’s sake. You’re the boy,” he says, tossing the young Dark Lord a rude gesture. “What in the hell have you done? Why am I here?” 

Voldemort threw his hands up, saying “whatever,” and turned to face the stone wall he was leaning against. 

“What is that smell?” he thinks aloud. The scent tantalises him, hypnotises him, it’s allure was drawing him to his worst enemy. 

“It’s me,” Voldemort says an instant before slamming his face into the stone. 

Harry flinches. “Yikes.” 

“We’ve been poisoned with Amortentia. Have you recently made a batch?” 

“Yes, for my daughter’s- wait a minute, what?” He’s gaping at him, confused. “Have you?” 

“That’s not your business.” 

“Well, obviously…never mind. Go back to beating yourself up.” A sudden urge to kiss the man sweeps through Harry’s mind. “No,” he says out loud, and claps a hand over his mouth. And he fights it. He tells himself it’s the potion causing this; the haunting visions and the salacious thoughts that pad around in his head—they are not his own. They are spurious, born from bewitchment. He watches his enemy from across the room. It becomes obvious he’s battling his own inner demons, taking out his frustration through banging his head on the wall. The man’s completely mad, a lunatic, and it pleases Harry to bits to watch his bloodied forehead smack against the protruding stone. For once in his life he’s causing that monster’s head to split open in great pain, not the other way around. It occurs to him then that this was the only thing that man had ever done to make him smile. 

And when Lord Voldemort finally gives in to the erratic aching desire to gaze upon the one person on the planet he hates most, Harry can see that attractive face of his is all but attractive anymore. Again, Harry makes a mental note, ticking off a second time in a matter of seconds that bastard has made him smile. “Not so charming at the moment, with your face all fucked up like that.” 

“How dare you speak to me,” he says through bloodied teeth, devoid of emotion despite the head-banging incident a moment back. “If I had a wand on me…” His words fade off, his inner anger burgeoning as he watches Harry begin to titter and touch his lips with the tips of his fingers, mocking him, pretending to hide his amusement. He remains calm. “I don’t even need a wand to tear you apart.” 

Harry rolls his sleeves up and raises his fists in the air, Dudley’s fighting stance firmly set in place. “You want to bring this to blows? I’m so ready to knock you out.” Or touch you, or rip your clothes off. Hell, let’s get married! He drops the fists to pinch himself as hard as he can and for maybe five seconds his hatred for the man overrides the effects of the Amortentia. But then it’s back, the urge to jump on top of him and hump his evil arse through the floorboards is growing stronger. “Do you really look like that now or is it the potion effecting my vision and makes you look human?” 

“I could ask you the same,” he says back, in a calm voice that does not match his body. It’s a bit too high, the dialect not near as posh as his older self speaks, and he drops the r’s that come after vowels far too often to ignore. “You’ve come to my time. This is my world.” He’s slightly effeminate, maybe even pretty, and Harry stops himself from banging his own head on the wall for even allowing that thought to cross his mind. Yeah, he was definitely pretty. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, only just hearing the words well enough to try and understand them. “Your world, your time?” 

“Don’t play stupid on me now, Potter. I know you better than that.” He says the words and stops, looks off into the empty room with nothing but its four walls and a boarded-up door. “But…how would I know you at all if you’re not from here?” he asks Harry and maybe himself. He looks back at Harry for answers. “How do I know you? How have you aged so much and why would I not look human?” 

Harry chuckles, wagging his finger at the snake. “Right. Nice try, Voldemort.” He shakes his head as his smile fades off, irritated to no end over the other boy’s ridiculous attempt to feign responsibility. “You know damned well you did this. I don’t know how or why, but I know you set this up.” 

“I would just kill you if I could. Why would I put myself in a room with you?” 

He can see it, Harry can almost feel how little the boy was not in control of his emotions despite how cold and effortlessly he kept his air. And then, as if he could read his mind, he crosses the room and takes Harry into his arms, tipping him back, kissing him, moaning against his lips when Harry kisses him back. Harry feels him tense up and gasps, losing his balance and falling on his arse as Voldemort finds the strength to stop himself. “You don’t look 45,” is all he says, and Harry could see that his forehead had healed up and the blood was gone. 

“I’m a wizard, smart-arse, we both know that we age slower than Muggles.” 

He turns to look at him and takes a few steps towards him. “I mean you look like me: 20.” 

“I do?” 

“Gods.” Voldemort bends down and yanks Harry up, takes him into his arms and slams him up against the wall, their lips and hips locked. 

“I’m a married man,” Harry whispers, feeling Voldemort unbuckling his belt. 

“Who gives a fuck?” Voldemort is looking at him with disgust. 

Harry nips at his bottom lip. “I was telling myself!” 

“Oh. Slip your shoes off, you idiot prat.” 

“Idiot prat? What are you- six?” He interlocks his fingers behind the boy’s neck and smashes their lips together. He breaks the kiss, pushing him back a step to gawk at him. “Why are you still dressed? Get. Naked!” 

“I was undressing you!” he shouts back and rips his linen shirt apart.

Harry’s got his trousers open and around his ankles within seconds. “Jackpot!” he cries, focusing on Voldemort’s erection. “Your cock is fantastic!” he says enthusiastically. “Really, it’s amazing.” 

“Good lord, as is yours,” Voldemort comments, licking his lips. 

Harry looks down at himself, always impressed with it. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” He licks his teeth as Voldemort flattens him back up against the wall, pressing their cocks together. They are rutting against each other, kissing, breathing hard, with their fingers buried in the other’s hair. 

“Such a hot little body,” Voldemort whispers into Harry’s mouth then sticks his tongue inside to scrape against the other. 

“Huh? Was that even a saying back when you were 20?” Harry asks, befuddled. 

Voldemort shakes his head. “I’m not 20, I just look 20.” 

“How do you know you look 20? You can’t see yourself.” 

Harry’s scar begins tingling, causing him to sneeze. Voldemort wipes his nose for him. “I read your mind, fool. Now get down there and suck my cock!” He shoves Harry down on his knees and jams his dick in his mouth. “Get it really wet so I can fuck you into that wall.” 

“You mean ‘against the wall’?” 

“Whatever,” he says. He pulls Harry up and flips him around, bending him up against the wall and kicking his legs farther apart. He slips his fingers inside Harry and slaps his hand off of his cock. “ _Let me do that,_ ” he hisses in Parseltongue and fucks over it with his fist. “Hands on the wall, brace yourself.” And Harry’s trembling with pleasure, his breathing sounds so pretty and light. Voldemort pulls his fingers out and shoves his prick in, relishing at those breathy mewls he’s making. “Sweet motherfucking Merlin,” he cries, fisting his hand in Harry’s mop of hair. 

Harry’s lost, grinding his arse back against Voldemort’s thrusts but it’s not enough for either of them. A stronger wave of desire slams into their hearts and Voldemort can’t help himself or stop himself from flipping Harry back to face him, hefting him up and holding him against the wall to fuck him facing him. _“KISS ME ALREADY!”_ he screams and Harry grabs his face, tipping it for him. 

“Gods, you smell so good, taste so fucking good, Tom.” 

“Don’t call me ‘Tom’.” Their puffy lips meet, pressing them flat to the other, their wicked tongues circling around tongue-fucking their mouths. 

“I’m not calling you ‘Voldemort’ while we’re fucking.” 

“Yes you will. Say it.” 

Both are quite out of breath, sweaty fringe is stuck to their foreheads. Harry reaches up, wiping it from Voldemort’s face. “Fine. _Voldemort,_ ” he whispers and buries his face in the man’s neck. “I’m gonna fucking come, Voldemort,” he whimpers. “Fucking coming, ohmygod.” His voice is quivering, breathless, so fucking pretty. Voldemort keeps fucking him with his hand, watching his hot jism flowing over it and spurting upward. He nudges Harry’s head back so he can kiss him while he’s coming. The man is half-dead from exhaustion. Still quivering and moaning, he’s kissing the man with the vestiges of his energy. “You’re killing me, Voldemort,” he says slumping back against the wall, watching the man holding him up licking the semen off of his fingers. “Gonna pass out.” 

“No you’re not, come on, Potter.” He’s bouncing him over his cock, hard and fast, watching his eyes close and open in his fight to stay awake. 

“Don’t call me ‘Potter’.” 

“Fine, _Harry_ ,” he says with malice. He breathing grows louder. “I’m gonna come, Harry.” 

Harry wraps his arms around his neck. “Come in me, Voldemort,” he says before claiming his lips. 

“Yes,” he says, straining from the intense pleasure, screaming over Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s wrapped around him as they slide down the wall and land on their sides. Voldemort pets him, looking at his sweet face. “My god, what the fuck did we just do?” 

Harry’s eyes are still closed. “We had sex, Voldemort.” 

“We did, didn’t we.” He looks at his hand; it’s white. He leans into Harry and whispers “ _sleep, baby, dream of that wife and those children that you’ll never have”_ in his ear. Harry yawns and falls asleep. The Dark Lord stands and dresses himself before situating Harry on the bed that has magically reappeared. He kisses his lips, so soft and supple. The wraith snaps his fingers and the boarded up door opens. He looks back one more time at his prisoner and smiles. 

Bellatrix Lestrange peers into the room. “Have fun?” 

“Oh, yes,” he says. “Poor sod has quite the imagination. Thinks he’s 45 with grandchildren.” 

“Ooh, I know why,” she says, giggling. “I implanted that when we played house yesterday.” 

The Dark Lord laughs as the door to Harry’s cell closes. 

“Gods, I love magic.”


End file.
